


bad blood

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Airplanes, Angst, Drug Use, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 20:22:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10704420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: louis and harry on the infamous plane ride to australia in february 2015





	bad blood

There are two other people in first class. Cal, and some women in a skirt-suit with a stuck-up face and probably more money than either of them. 

 And Harry, of course. Three people. 

 The plane’s small, big seats. Louis sits down on the left window seat, pointedly puts his bag down on the empty chair so no one gets any ideas. 

 Harry doesn’t look at him as he slides into the seat across the aisle. Window seat, too. He has his sunglasses on still, and he stretches his long legs out, pulls out his phone. Louis looks away, does the same. 

_Miss you already love!! X_ , he sends to Eleanor. He tips his head back, lets out a sigh. 

 "Can I get you something to drink, sir?“ 

The flight attendant leans down, smiling. 

 Louis checks his phone. No response yet. "Whiskey,” he says. “With ice. Please." 

"Of course." 

 His phone buzzes. 

  _Miss you too. I’ll be there soooo soon!_

_Hows flight? Twitter says you’re flying w/ Harry_  

Louis’ jaw clenches. He sneaks a glance over at Harry. He’s drinking a mini bottle of water and looking out the window. 

_Yea he’s on this flight_  

 The flight attendant sets down his whiskey and a bag of peanuts, and Louis tears it open, takes a gulp of his drink. 

 "Thank you so much,” he hears Harry say, as the attendant hands him what looks like a cup of tea. 

 "You’re welcome, sir,“ the attendant says, voice giddy and dazzled. Louis rolls his eyes, sips his drink, wincing as it burns his throat. Fuck it, right? He’ll drink a bit and pass out for ten hours. 

 Fuck, he wishes he could smoke up. His head hurts. He’s been stoned for the last week, it feels like - long days and long nights rolling blunts by the pool of the villa every hour or so. Swimming and laying out and listening to Liam’s remixes on his laptop. Fucking his girlfriend, on a pool lounger as the sun went down, or in bed at night with the curtains wide open, reckless. Once in the kitchen - El on the counter with her legs spread, Louis’ head between them, his face getting wet. Tasting her. He draws in a long breath, and drains his whiskey, orders another. 

 It’s not enough. Half an hour later and Harry’s asleep, passed out against the window with his mouth open, and Louis can’t follow suit. He chews his bottom lip til it stings, opens up his phone again, sends a message to Eleanor.

_Sooooooo fucking bored_

_Shouldve brought some of those weed lollies_

Eleanor texts back in a minute flat. 

_Hahaha those were amazing. Play me in wwf_

 Louis snorts. 

_I deleted the app babe. Send me a photo :):)_

 He puts his phone down, grabbing his water and taking a gulp. El takes forever. Louis stares out the window, but it’s just clouds, gray and boring. Finally his phone vibrates, and he yanks it out. 

_Lol i’m at a shoot i can’t. Laaater? Airplane toilet phone sex? X_

A second later she sends a selfie, her face made up heavily and half her hair pinned up to the side. 

Louis huffs out a laugh. 

_I rly fancy that hair you should do it all the time. And dunno if my phone’ll work to call?? Airplaine toilet text sex instead ?? Ha x_

 He shuts his eyes for a minute, and then opens them, groans in frustration. 

Fuck it. 

He peers over the back of the seat. Behind him is the woman, but across the aisle and one row back is Cal, sleeping with his headphones in. 

Louis ducks out of his seat and pokes Cal’s shoulder til he wakes up. 

"Hey." 

 Cal grunts. "Wha?" 

 "You got, like, anything to sleep?” Louis says, foot tapping on the carpet. “Pills or whatever?" 

Cal hums, used to being woken up by them. "Uhh. Yeah, lemme-” He pulls his bag up from the ground. “Let’s see. Valium, Ativan, Klonopin, Lunesta - got some Benadryl… Kava, that’s like this natural sleep aid, and it actually feels pretty good, all tingly-" 

"I’m not a fucking pharmacist, mate,” Louis says impatiently. “What’ll make me fall asleep for a long time?" 

"Mm. Klonny’ll make you tired, but I think you could use a little pick-me-up. I mean, Lunesta if you just wanna pass out, but Valium’s better for anxiety-" 

"I don’t have anxiety." 

Cal raises both hands placatingly. "Oh yeah, yeah, I wasn’t saying that." 

"Just- fuck. Give me the fucking Valium then.” Cal digs around in his bag, drops two tablets into Louis’ palm. “Careful what you mix ‘em with, it can get-" 

"Yeah, thanks,” Louis says shortly, flopping back down into his seat. 

He looks at the pills for a second, and then looks to his left, sees Harry watching him sleepily. Harry waves, with one hand, and Louis smiles tightly at him before he turns away and drops the pills on his tongue, washes them down with the rest of his mini water bottle. 

“Uh, pardon,” he says, as the flight attendant passes by. “Could I have another water, please? And a beer." 

"We’ve got Heineken, Bud Light, Corona-" 

"Whatever,” he says. “The first one. Thanks." 

She turns away. Eleanor’s texted him back. 

_Haha i’m up for it. Oh your publicist just called me. Lots of stuff on twitter about the flight just fyi ?_

 Louis stares down at the phone. He knows what she means by that. "Lots of stuff”, lots of chatter, some buzz, etc. All that shit means the same fucking thing. 

Harry stands up to go to the toilet, limbs cracking audibly as he stretches, and Louis curls away from him reflexively, facing the window, ducking his head. He pulls up Twitter, checks the trends. 

“There you are, sir,” the flight attendant says, handing him an opened beer, and he takes a deep gulp without looking up from the phone. He closes out of Twitter, teeth gritting. Christ, why won’t the fucking pills kick in? 

_Ok thanks. Sorry love x Should’ve taken a later flight shouldnt i have ._

He tips his beer bottle up, rests his head back against the seat. Harry eases his way out of the tiny airplane toilet, too-tall and too-clumsy for it, nearly tripping over the edge of a drink cart. 

He sinks back into his seat, phone buzzing on his thigh. 

_It’s fine. Not your fault! Ok i have 2 work!! Love you! X_  

He starts typing a response, and sinks into sleep without warning before he can finish. 

The plane bumps violently and Louis jerks awake, breathless. He peers around at the dark cabin, eyelids heavy like lead. Jesus fuck. He was dreaming something fucked-up where they crashed, and Louis was trying to swim in the ocean, but there was something tugging at his ankle, and he watched a shark take Harry’s arm off right in front of him. Blood in the water and Harry saying, very calmly, “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault-" 

Louis shakes himself. 

"Alright?” he hears, and turns to see Harry, in the aisle seat now with his feet stretched out. 

“Fine,” Louis says. Harry nods. He has one earbud in and his hair’s pulled up into a bun that’s gone wonky from being pressed against the airplane seat. His eyes are glinting in the darkness. 

“How, uh, how long’ve I been sleeping?” Louis asks. It’s not like anyone else will know. The flight attendant, maybe, but that’d be fucking weird to ask her.

 Harry shrugs. “Six hours, maybe. We’re like halfway there." 

Louis nods slowly. Shit, he thought it’d been longer. His head’s throbbing, and he fumbles for his water, drains the bottle in one go. Harry takes his headphones out, tossing them onto the seat next to him. 

"Can’t sleep,” he says to Louis. Louis doesn’t look at him. He’s scrolling through his phone. Eleanor hasn’t texted. 

“Like,” Harry says, slowly. “I know I should. Cos we’ve got rehearsal like four hours after we get in." 

Louis peers down at his phone as his eyes blur dizzily. Everything’s sort of - soft and close. Those pills are, like. Not bad. 

"Cal’s got Valium,” he says, opening up Twitter again. It’s still fucking trending. He scrolls through his Timeline for a while. 

“That what you took?” Louis doesn’t answer. 

“You seen this?” he says, trying not to flush at the way his voice slurs. He’s out of his head. Not in a bad way, though. He feels really - warm. 

“What?" 

"Twitter.” Harry shakes his head, rolling his shoulders idly and letting out a long breath as they pop like bubble wrap. 

“Nah. Airplane mode." 

"Wi-fi, though." 

Harry shakes his head again. Yawns. "Not hooked up on it." 

"That’s- stupid." 

Harry huffs a laugh. "Thanks." 

Louis hands him the phone. "Trending,” he says. His mouth’s dry all of a sudden, and he grabs his water bottle. Shit, it’s empty. He reaches across and steals Harry’s. Harry’s scrolling through the phone, face impassive. 

“You should probably know,” Louis says, unscrewing his water. “Or whatever. Nina texted El, so." 

"Mm.” Harry’s chewing his gum slowly like a cow. "Alright.“ 

Louis finishes his water and tosses it on the ground. "Should’ve done different flights,” he says, watching Harry for a reaction. Harry’s infuriatingly mellow about this shit. About everything, these days. Louis’ the one who smokes weed and yet Harry acts like a stoner all the goddamn time. 

Harry shrugs with one shoulder. “Wouldn’t have helped, probably." 

"You kidding? Says right there we’re on the same fucking - plane. Apparently spooning the whole fucking time. If we hadn’t both got papped-" 

Harry laughs, cutting Louis off. "Plane spoon. That wouldn’t even be comfortable." 

"It’s not fucking funny." 

Harry smiles with half his mouth, thumbing down Twitter, eyes on the screen. "Kind of." 

Louis rolls his eyes, slumping back in his seat. 

"Oh,” Harry says. “Eleanor texted you- _oh_. Here." 

He hands the phone off. There’s a text from Eleanor on the screen, and then - a photo. Jesus. Her face soft and scrubbed clean of makeup and her bare chest, nipples pink and hard. Louis turns the phone facedown on his thigh as fast as he can. 

"What the fuck, Harry?" 

"I didn’t mean to open it,” Harry says. “Sorry." 

Louis’ head throbs. He wants to sock Harry right in his smug fucking face. He wants to throw his phone at the wall. He wants to fall asleep. _It’s nothing Harry hasn’t seen before_ , he thinks, and his hands curl into fists. 

"How’s she doing?” Harry asks politely. 

“Don’t fucking - ask me how my girlfriend’s doing when you just looked at a photo of her- fuck, Harry, shut up." 

Harry shuts up. Only for a minute, though. 

"You said Cal had Valium?” he asks, leaning over to whisper the question like anyone’s actually listening to them. 

Louis waves a hand. “Yeah." 

Harry nods, squeezing his own knees, and then standing up slowly. Louis watches out of the corner of his eye as Harry wakes Cal up gently by jostling his shoulder, and then slides into the window seat, stepping over his lap. Cal puts an arm around him, grins, and Harry grins back, nestling into Cal’s shoulder easily. 

Louis turns away, something settling heavy in his stomach like a rock. How’s Harry do that? So easy with everything. Makes it all seem fucking - simple. Louis’ so sick of being the only one bothered. Makes him seem like a frothing lunatic next to Harry’s blank smile. 

He knows Harry’s not blank. He knows Harry thinks things, about all this. About the rumors. He just can’t - like. Figure it out anymore. His knee’s bouncing furiously, and he turns around, hisses at Cal and Harry. 

"You have another Valium?” They both look up, still laughing. Harry’s hair is falling in his face. 

“Think you’re good, Lou,” Cal says kindly. “Maybe try to fall back asleep." 

"I’m not- I want another one." 

"Louis-” Harry starts, and Louis glares at him so hard Harry goes quiet, the smile falling off his face. 

“Here, buddy,” Cal says. “You know what. How about some kava. It’s all-natural, get you all nice and relaxed." 

"Is that that shit you were on at Ben’s last week?” Harry asks, absently tucking his hair behind his ear. “When you couldn’t move?" 

"Nahh,” Cal laughs. “That was some herbal shit Trina got from her dealer. Holy fuck, that was lethal." 

Harry laughs. "You stayed in the hot tub for, like, two hours. I thought you were drowning." 

 Louis coughs pointedly. It comes out meaner than he expected. Harry and Cal look up. "Kava?” Louis says. “Whatever the fuck that is?" 

"It’s a powder,” Cal says, grabbing his half-empty water bottle and unscrewing the top. 

He offers it to Harry. “Hold that, baby.” Harry takes it. Louis’ cheeks are flushed. He looks up anxiously to make sure the flight attendant isn’t coming. 

Cal tips half a baggie of light green powder into the bottle, puts the top back on, gives it a shake. 

“Looks like protein powder,” Harry says, sounding amused. 

“There you go, kid.” Cal hands him the bottle. “It’s good stuff. Knock you right out, give you a little tingle." 

"Be careful,” Harry adds. 

Louis doesn’t look at him. He turns back around, sinks into his seat, shaking the bottle with one hand. Holy shit, it tastes terrible. Bitter and powdery. Like green tea, sort of, which in Louis’ opinion is the absolute worst drink ever created. 

He drains the bottle like he’s taking a shot, shoves it into his backpack, and lies his head back. He doesn’t remember passing out. 

He comes to with Harry’s hands on his face, and for a second he fumbles against the touch, desperately, pushing at Harry’s wrists. 

“The fuck?" 

"Jesus,” Harry breathes, his face wide and close to Louis’, eyes bright. “Thought you died." 

Louis’ skin is prickling and his tongue is like a dry lump in his mouth and he’s definitely high as hell, but he’s not dead. 

"Nah,” he manages to say. His throat hurts. Harry hands him a bottle of water. 

“They said we’d be there in an hour,” Harry says. He’s kneeling on the aisle floor, Louis realizes suddenly. “You didn’t wake up when they made the announcement. Or when I said your name." 

"Okay,” Louis says, trying to unscrew the water. His hands are trembling. “Get the fuck up. Someone could see." 

"I’m not doing anything." 

Louis groans. "Just get up, Harry.” Harry relents. He sits in the aisle seat, just a foot of space between him and Louis. Peers at him with dark eyes. 

“Are you fucked up?” he says. “I’m like a little fucked up." 

"I’m fine.” That’s a lie, but Louis will be fine. For a moment it feels like there’s nothing else out there, like they’re going to be on this plane forever. Cal and Harry and the lady behind him and the flight attendant and the leather seat, the stale recycled air. His mouth tastes bitter, and he smacks his lips a few times, gulps his water. 

“I don’t usually, like, you know, take stuff to fly,” Harry says, voice low and rambling. It’s true. On buses and on planes, Harry usually falls asleep easy. Louis’ watched him many times, jealous of it. “But I dunno. That kava’s, like, intense." 

"I have to piss,” Louis says shortly, and he tries to stand up four times until he realizes he has his seatbelt on. Oops. 

Harry sinks back into his seat. Louis holds onto the wall with one hand as he pisses, his eyes unfocusing and focusing every time he moves. He looks at himself in the mirror for a second, winces. Red eyes, circles under them. Christ, he hopes they get out of the airport fast. 

Harry’s asleep when Louis stumbles back. His eyes are closed softly, a flush high on his cheeks, mouth half-open. 

Eleanor’s sent him a text. 

  _You better be asleep ha_

_Or theres no excuse for you not to respond….._

Louis curses under his breath. Shit, what’d she send him? Oh, fuck. Topless photo. Oh fuck, Harry saw it. Bastard. Louis’ body is heavy like cement, and he starts to type, slowly. 

_Sorry!! yeah I was alseep. Knocked out. We’re landing in an hour. Let me getto the hotel ok i'l call love you x_

 He hits Send, lets out a long breath. He opens up Twitter again, surveys the damage. 

He’s startled by Harry’s voice. 

“Helps if you don’t look at it,” he says. 

When Louis looks at him, Harry’s watching him with his cheek pressed to the seat, blinking slowly. 

“The Twitter shit,” Harry clarifies. “I mean. You don’t have to look at it." 

What the- what the fuck does Harry know? What does he fucking know? Louis feels a flash of rage so intense it makes his toes curl. 

"Shut up,” he hisses. “You don’t know shit about what helps." 

Harry’s brow furrows. 

"I was only saying." 

Louis clicks his phone off with his thumb. "You’re fucking insuff- insufferable.” He trips over it, tongue thick. 

“Don’t be pissed off at me,” Harry says, surprisingly low and fierce. “I’m not the one who does this. You’re always pissed off at me. Since, like, it started. And it’s not fair." 

Louis stares straight ahead, processing that. It’s the most Harry’s said on the subject in - years. It’s only because Harry’s fucked up. He knows that. 

"What, you’re just gonna ignore me now?” Harry says, voice thick and angry.

Louis doesn’t look at him. 

“I. Can’t. Help it,” Harry bites out, leaning across the aisle. His face is red. 

Louis’ fingers twitch in his lap. He lets out a steadying breath. Of course Harry can help it. Of course he could act different, wipe the Cheshire cat smile off his face whenever an interviewer goes a bit too far. When Louis tries not to say something awful - he’s trying, people never give him credit for trying - and Harry just looks amused. 

“I know you don’t like me,” Harry says, a mean twist in his voice. “I know you think I’m different now. I know what you think." 

Louis laughs bitterly. "You’re off your fucking head, Harry." 

"I’m not,” Harry chokes out. “I’m - you- you'ont think I’m me anymore." 

"The hell does that even mean? Jesus, mate. Go back to sleep." 

Harry peers at him searchingly. Louis grabs his phone to look at instead of Harry’s wide accusing eyes. He taps out a text to Zayn and then deletes it. 

"It’s not my fault,” Harry says stubbornly. 

“Alright, Haz. Drink some water." 

Harry lets out a rough sound, mouth opening like he’s going to say something. Before he gets a chance, the loudspeaker crackles. 

"Alright, folks, we’re beginning our initial descent into Sydney. The weather on the ground is warm, about 23 degrees Celsius, and we should be on the ground in thirty-five minutes or so-" 

Harry scoots into the window seat, away from Louis, his movements slow and clumsy and his face narrowed with irritation. 

Louis turns his head to look out the window, knee jiggling up and down. His stomach feels unsteady. He wants to get to the hotel, get a nap in, get some tea. Put his face into a pillow. Maybe vomit up whatever herbal crap that was, because it’s making him shake. 

He tells himself that it’ll pass. The plane ride shite, the trending topic. It’ll go away. Louis’ll just have to be careful. He’s already so careful but it’s never fucking enough. 

Maybe if Harry were more careful Louis wouldn’t have to do it all himself. 

He shakes his head, shuts his eyes, and doesn’t open them again until they’re on the ground.


End file.
